


Love is a many splendored thing

by Hedwig_Dordt



Series: Love is 'verse [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Meeting, M/M, first son!Stiles, gratuitous dinosaur jokes, prince!derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:58:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5992381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedwig_Dordt/pseuds/Hedwig_Dordt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Derek - of obscure European royalty, has been studying and working in the US for about a decade now -has been strong armed by his family to attend the state visit to the newly elected President Stilinski. He tries to hide on the edge of the party and meets an interesting young man.</p><p>Stiles Stilinski has been feeling a little adrift since his father was elected. He is under firm instructions from his father and his best friend to keep his face and/or ass out of the tabloids. He just needs something to do! But for now he's just hiding from their European guests.</p><p>As always, they find each other</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is a many splendored thing

**Author's Note:**

> Title of course is from the song from the 1955 movie, or at least so I found after googling it. I remembered the line from Moulin Rouge. 
> 
> It's based on this prompt from Howlnatural: http://howlnatural.tumblr.com/post/139135408449/hoeched-princehairhobrien-sorry-but-i 
> 
> Beta read and US picked by my lovely friend Fightyourdragon - remaining flaws are mine.

Derek is a little worried. It's not that he's asocial - he's been president of his university’s botanical student organisation, he is active on social media, yes, twitter and instagram. It's just. He has to make small talk here. With exactly the crowd he's been avoiding since forever. He was happy to accept a babysitter as a kid rather than going out , and offered up homework as a teenager as an excuse not to show up at his parents' social gatherings. Scanning the room, he notices there's one other person hiding somewhat ineffectively behind a fern. He slinks over along the wall, gathering his courage, and tries desperately to come up with something to say. He waves away a server with a tray of champagne - alcohol can only make matters worse now. 

"Are you hiding or a pteridologist?" he asks.

The most beautiful pair of amber eyes he's ever stared into grow even wider, and a sinful mouth slacks open a little.

"Not a pteridologist," Derek concludes, "so - hiding?"

"No, yeah. Hiding. Did you just call me a dinosaur?"

Derek lifts an eyebrow, wondering where to even start with this airhead. At this rate, small talk with his parents' guests is starting to look pleasant. Even if he is pretty. “No, I was asking if you're studying ferns. Since you're currently behind one, where the party is definitely not."

The young man straightens up a bit, revealing surprisingly broad shoulders. "I didn't even know the study of ferns has its own name, to be honest."

"Yeah, they are kinda cool. There's a species in South America that absorbs arsenic from the soil," Derek enthuses.

"You know a lot about plants," the man says carefully.

"Double degree in botany and ecology. It's my field, really. You? What do you do?" Derek remembers Cora telling him that asking return questions is the way to ‘create rapport’. 

"Criminology, mostly." comes the reply, "I was going to be a cop, you know before," he jerks with his head to the party. "I hear the FBI does interesting work using plants to identify where someone has been."

"I know very little about criminology," Derek admits. "Was there a particular part in your life that triggered your interest in it?"

The man looks at him with disbelief: "well, my mom was killed in a home invasion, so I'm kind of invested in the whole crime prevention thing."

"I'm sorry. For your loss, I mean. I had no idea."

"It's okay, really. It was a long time ago."

"Doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt. I didn't mean to bring up painful memories. I can go back to plants? I can talk about plants a long time," Derek offers. That earns him a huff of laughter that sends butterflies in his stomach. He tells himself to stop being ridiculous over someone he only just met. They are both quiet for a few long moments, each unsure how to continue the conversation. 

"So you're here under duress?" the man asks him.

"Well, kinda. My sister wants me to do 'my share' of the work," he makes air quotes to emphasise its ridiculousness, "and I was in Canada for a conference, the family decided to draft me for the visit to the US."

The man nods sympathetically, "I don't really want to be here either," he admits.

"Stiles!" a second young man comes striding over.

"What the hell is a stiles?" Derek asks, as the man smiles at the newcomer. 

"That would be my name." 

Derek wants to facepalm, but the man - Stiles - seems unperturbed. "Scottie, my man!"

"Stiles, you need to come over for the photos. You too, Derek."

"And who are you?" Derek says sternly. Security protocol has been drilled into him from an early age: don’t just go along with someone because they tell you to.

"Oh right, Scott McCall, son of the Surgeon General." Scott offers his hand, and Derek shakes it, but before he can introduce himself, Scott barrels on to Stiles.  "Now please come with me, I don't want to call the secret service on you."

"Didn’t you say Derek has tocome too?" Stiles asks innocently.

"Yes, of course," Scott says, shaking his head a little. Stiles offers an expression in return. The silent conversation develops too quickly for Derek to decypher completely.

"How do you even know who I am?" Derek asks neither one of them in particular.

"Briefing," Scott says.

"People magazine," Stiles says simultaneously, "and instagram of course." His conversation with Scott seems concluded, and Stiles follows Scott across the room, leaving Derek to tag along quickly.

 

"You follow me on instagram?" Derek asks when they cross the main room for the staircase where the pictures are to be taken.

"Well, not for the plants obviously," Stiles says. Derek frowns at him. "Wait, you think people follow your IG for the plants? No man, they come for your glorious face and snark."

"What's wrong with my face?"

"Absolutely nothing. I think it's great you study plants, with your bunny teeth and all." 

Reflexively, Derek touches his teeth with his tongue.

"Hey sweetheart, I haven't seen you all night!" His mother says, smiling at him. "Are you having a good time?"

"It's alright, I guess," he ventures.

"I see you've met Mieczysław," she says nodding at Stiles, proffering her hand to shake it, "I'm Talia Hale."

"Wow, you must be one of the very few people that can actually pronounce it in the country! Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Hale. Call me Stiles, though, please. Mieczysław makes me feel like I'm in trouble. Which I'm not." He smiles at the man by Talia's side. "At least not now. Hey dad!" 

And that's when it clicks. This beautiful young man, who does not distinguish between pterodactyl and pteridologist, is First Son Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski.

President Stilinski smiles at his son, and opens his arms. Stiles steps in to hug his father. Derek smiles at their utterly American display of affection.

When Stiles is released, John Stilinski introduces himself to Derek. "John Stilinski. Call me John."

"Derek Hale," he says, suddenly bashful. “I would have voted for you if I had the right here, but as it is...”

“Yeah, you’re not really in a position to request citizenship anywhere else.” John smiles genially at him, the wholesome all-American guy next door charm radiating from him effortlessly. "I'm impressed with your work in the Guyanian Amazonian Park," John continues, "it's so important to form bridges between indigenous knowledge and the scientific community."

Now Derek is gaping, he blinks twice and pulls himself together, "Thank you sir. It's a privilege, really."

"You can't help where you're born, you can decide what to do in the position."

"Some days I ran admin, research, and outreach on the same day. Several different positions, really," Derek says happily, "though not always by choice."

"I'm sure Stiles is observing all of this with profound interest."

"Several different positions, yes, I caught that," Stiles says, his eye glittering with mirth. His father groans and shakes his head. They are saved from further interaction by the photographer who starts organising them for the portraits. Afterwards, Stiles carts off Scott to play videogames back at their apartment. Derek tries not to feel the loss too keenly.

 

Cora throws a copy of three different gossip rags on the table in front of him. “Were you ever going to tell me you’re dating Stiles?”

He looks from the magazines back up at her. “I’m not?” he offers. “I went to the reception at the state visit. I met him for about fifteen minutes. We’re not… anything.” He doesn’t tell her he’s been trying to figure out which one of his millions of followers is Stiles.

On the other hand, she looks relieved to hear that. “You’re too good for him anyway,” she says seriously. “I’m not opposed to casual sex on principle, it’s just really not your style.”

He blinks at her, uncomprehending. “What does casual sex have to do with anything?”

“Well, let’s just say, he is living up to the stereotype.”

“What stereotype? Is he gay?” 

“No, pansexual. As in: interested in you, not your gender.”

“Like me?”

“Kinda? I guess, I’m not fluent in sexual diversity, to be honest. I guess what I’m saying is, Stiles, he’s a nice guy. But he is not… the dating kind, I guess?”

“I’ll try to refrain from choosing a color scheme for the wedding,” he says sarcastically. “You know, since we’ll probably meet never again.”

“Good,” Cora says. “It’s your turn to cook tonight. And we’re not having pizza.”

 

For some reason, Derek gets a copy of three of the pictures taken at the reception. One, the one used with the press release the next day, they’re all in formation, smiling politely at the camera. The second, his mother and the President are shaking hands, the rest of their entourage fanning around them. In the third, the photographer was obviously messing with the settings: nobody is doing what they’re supposed to, least of all himself and Stiles. They are eyeing each other with interest. No wonder the tabloids went crazy over them. For all that he avoids it, some of it does filter through to him, either via his social media followers, or through Cora. While he refused to google Stiles, he now knows there are roughly two version of his bio. Version one: boy loses his mother, and his father raises to national prominence and eventual presidency, aided by his social media savvy son who set up an amazing ‘turn out the vote’ campaign. Version two: boy loses his mother and goes off track, has a lot of sexual partners of various gender identities and expressions, started at least three different college educations, and finished none. Derek isn’t sure what to make of it, and tries to drown himself in work in order to not obsess over it. 

 

He is all set: with an hour to spare, the boarding for his flight to California is in his jacket, he found his gate, bought an overpriced cappuccino, and found his kindle. He hates airports, but he loves that it gives him time to read. The one indulgence he allows himself personally is the luxury of the first class lounge. He opens up Chabon’s The Mysteries of Pittsburgh and settles in. 

“Hey Derek!” He looks up, startled from his concentration to find Stiles looking down at him. “What are you reading?”

“Ehm, Mysteries of Pittsburgh? It’s a coming of age story.”

“Michael Chabon, right?” Stiles asks.

“Yes,” he says, somewhat surprised.

“Man, I loved Kavalier and Clay. And the Yiddish Policemen’s Union was amazing.”

“You know Michael Chabon?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, “just because I had trouble figuring out my place in college doesn’t mean I’m dumb.”

“I wasn’t implying…”

“I am smart, and observant, it’s just with college, I never quite knew what I was doing there, really. Or why.”

“I mean, obviously school isn’t the only way…”

“And sort of the reason I even went to college was to keep my dad happy. Hell, the reason I got accepted was my dad.” Stiles looks from his kindle to his empty coffee cup. “I’m sorry I was rambling. I do that sometimes. Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your reading.”

“It’s okay, really.” Derek says.

“Can I offer you a refill? Because it’s another hour before my flight leaves.”

He checks the time. “Yes, I think I can swing another cup of coffee. The book will keep.” He puts his kindle away, and swings his backpack over his shoulder. “I have about forty-five minutes before boarding. First class privileges.”

Stiles grins at him. “I’m trying so hard not to get used to it.”

 

He manages not to miss his flight, and to get Stiles’ phone number.

“Just, you know, text me like a normal person,” Stiles said as Derek keyed the numbers in. “And it’s okay if you don’t, I know I can be a bit of a pest when I have my mind set on something.”

“I’ll text you when I land, really,” he had said earnestly. Now he is airborne and trying to figure out what he should write. It’s odd, speaking face to face with Stiles had been the easiest thing in the world, and now he has time to think about it and nothing is coming. 

 

He tries to tell himself he isn’t jealous when he sees Stiles three weeks later crossing the campus on the arm of a beautiful redhead. He ignores the jolt in his stomach and returns his attention to his assigned reading. When he’s back at his apartment that night, he posts a picture of his copy of Werewolves In Their Youth and his coffee thermos. He tags it “Some of the joys in life are solitary.” Cora calls ten minutes later: “Are you okay, big bro? Do I need to beat someone up?”

“Hey Cora, how are you. I’m fine, thanks for asking. I’m reading a great book. What are you up to?” he replies without missing a beat.

“Derek, you’re posting a super sad thing to your instagram. Of course I’m checking up on you. And no changing the subject. What happened?”

“I did not post a super sad thing. I’m enjoying a night in with a book and a hot drink. There’s nothing sad about that.”

“I know you, Derek, don’t front with me. Did you see her-of-whom-we-do-not-speak somewhere?”

“No.” He goes quiet for a moment. “Stiles is on campus.”

“Ah.”

“I think he has a girlfriend.” Saying the words make his mouth turn to sawdust.

“Gorgeous petite strawberry blonde?” Cora asks.

“Yes. Wait, how do you know that?”

“That would be Lydia Martin. They grew up together. She is at Berkeley too, the classics program. They grew up together, really. For as far as I know, she’s engaged to someone else.”

“Why do you even know these things?”

“Because she was the girl Stiles was rubbing in with sunscreen in San Tropez just after his father was sworn in.”

“Oh. But they weren’t…?”

“His exact words on E! were ‘not for lack of trying on my part as a teenager, Ms. Martin and I are really good friends. I will happily stand up for her at her impending wedding to Jackson Whittemore.’. So yes, friends.”

“Cora, I have to hang up. I have to text him. Right now.”

“You had his number this whole time?” she asks incredulously. “Then yes, go text him. Call me tomorrow!”

He hangs up, his hands shaking a little. He unlocks his screen. 

_ Hi. This is me texting like a normal person?  _ He writes and hits send before he can stop himself.  _ This is Derek, _ he adds after some consideration, and hits send a gain.  _ I should probably have led with that. Texting isn’t my forte. _

He puts his phone on the table and goes to the kitchen to hyperventilate. In an effort to calm himself down, he makes a new mug of tea. The well known movements calm him down a little, but as the water is turning to a boil, his phone chimes with an incoming text.

_ Hey Derek! Enjoying your book? Stiles _

The watercooker clicks off, he registers dimly. But it’s on a different planet, because Stiles is still talking to him. For some inexplicable reason he hasn’t given up on talking to Derek.

_ It’s okay. Did I see you on the quad this afternoon or do you have a doppelganger? Derek _

He pours the hot water into his mug and adds his tea bag. He counts to three on his inhale, four on his exhale while he waits for Stiles to reply. 

_ That might have been me. Seeing a friend at Berkeley.  _

He takes a long sip of tea and carefully types out  _ Care to meet for a cup of coffee? My treat this time - of course _

_ Whatever happened to Enjoying things in solitude? _

He grins at his phone,  _ I think you’re a better option _

_ You want to meet at the bar? _ Stiles sends him.  _ Fair warning, I think I’ve already spotted some paparazzi today.  _

Derek considers that, and replies  _ Would it be too forward to ask you to come over? _

_ As long as you don’t pull a ‘baby it’s cold outside’ on me, no it’s okay. Where do you live? _

He texts his address and surveys his apartment. There’s papers everywhere, but he did do the dishes last night. He doesn’t remember when he last vacuumed though.  _ I’ll be there in about twenty minutes _ , Stiles writes to him. Derek starts stacking up the papers to a tidy stack, checks the state of the toilet (acceptable) and the bedroom (he makes the bed just to be sure) and the bathroom (will have to do). He checks his outfit: regular jeans and his favourite maroon sweater. Should he change? When the doorbell rings, he is still taken off-guard. He does remember to ask an identifying question: “So are you a dinosaur or a botanist?”

“Neither? Just Stiles, I’m afraid.”

“Second floor,” He says as he presses the buzzer to let Stiles in. He opens the door and tries to lean casually against the door jamb. When Stiles steps out of the elevator, he drinks in the sight: red hoodie over a plaid shirt and skinny jeans, excellent cover when you’re visiting a college campus.

“Hey, you made it.” Derek finds himself awkwardly hovering between hugging Stiles and trying really hard not to. “Come on in.” 

Stiles grins widely at him and follows him into his apartment.

“Nice place,” Stiles says, looking around appreciatively, “Mind if I peek in your book shelves?”

“Go ahead. Want a drink?”

“Sure. What are you having?” Stiles asks.

“Tea,” Derek says somewhat sheepishly.

“I’ll have some too, please. I should probably drink that more than coffee.”

“It’s nothing fancy, just, you know, regular.”

“Don’t apologise, I’ve already accepted,” Stiles says. “Oh, Le Guin, I approve.” 

“Thank you,” Derek says dryly, “she’s only a major goddess among sci fi writers after all.”

Stiles huffs that laugh of his and Derek’s stomach goes all aflutter. Derek moves to the kitchen to boil some more water for a second cup tea. When it’s steeped, he returns to the living room, where he hands the mug over to Stiles.

“So what brings you to Berkeley?”

“If I say the weather?” Stiles suggests.

“I’d honestly buy that. But it’s not?”

“Lydia, my friend, she’s in the classics department, she wanted to show me around here. She hasn’t really given up on me academically.”

“Have you?” Derek asks. “That seems the relevant bit to me.”

Stiles looks at him, earnestly, “you know you’re the first person to ask me that? Everyone else seems to think I got good grades in school, and then partied too hard.” Derek nods encouragingly, trying to give Stiles space. “I mean, I keep meaning to go see a therapist, but then my dad ran for State Senate, and I sort of ran the social media part of his campaign. He went national, and well, oops? Here we are? It’s like, everyone’s life keeps moving on and all I seem good for is fun. My best friend is engaged to be married, for crying out loud.”

Derek is quiet for a moment. “There is no right way, not to be you, anyway,” he says. “That’s what my therapist said to me, anyway.”

Stiles sighs deeply and asks, “how are you like this?”

“Like what?”

“So… centered I guess?”

“I’m really not. I just try to hold on what keeps me calm. You know, the outdoors, and reading and tea and what not.” He nods at his bookshelves.

Stiles laughs a little, “I could do with some of that.”

“I can share,” he says coyly. “I can be your anchor for a while.”

“I’d like that,” Stiles says. “I can work with that.”

Derek feels something blossom in his chest. This feels like a start of a good thing. 

**Author's Note:**

> I think there's space for a second installment of this 'verse. Standard disclaimer: I'm a ridiculously slow writer most of the time, so I have 0 idea when that would happen. Sorry?


End file.
